Rain
by whovianallover
Summary: Molly forgot to bring an umbrella to work. Now it's pouring out and hailing a cab proves harder than she thought, Molly runs into somebody in the rain. SHERLOLLY. Ch3 There's a confession
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Sorry if this is terrible. It sounded good in my head. -Rose**

_Rain_

-whovianallover

Molly sighed as the sound of rumbling thunder and pelting rain met her ears. In any other circumstance Molly would have hummed with pleasure; she had always loved the sound of the rain, however the frown on her face was growing with every minute the rain continued. She should've known not bringing an umbrella to work was risky, but despite the forecast, Molly chose to believe that the shining sun streaming through her bedroom window was a good omen. Now she was kicking herself. All Molly had for protection against the elements was a thin jumper and a hoodless jacket. She would have to take a cab, walking home in this weather wasn't an option.

Molly thanked whatever higher power that was up above that this was her last paper to sign and rubbed her back with her eyes closed. The obscene amount of paperwork had taken its toll on her and a yawn escaped her lips. After she had packed away her pens and filed away the papers to send off tomorrow, Molly shrugged on her dust coloured jacket and switched off the lights to the morgue. Pushing her way through the double doors that marked the exit to the building, Molly gasped with the sudden drop of temperature and as the rain bucketed down she hurried down the street, keeping her eyes peeled for a cab.

After several tries at hailing a cab, Molly decided that her flat wasn't that far away and that walking wouldn't be too difficult. Molly tried to keep her head down and her mind far away from the icy droplets that ran cold down her neck. As she was picturing herself curled up in front of the warm fireplace at her flat with a good book she ran into a wall- or rather a man. "Sherlock!" she gasped, surprised that he would be walking in the rain; from what she knew he would rather get a cab than walk.

"Ah, Molly, I see you've had a stressful day."

"Of course you do," Molly sighed, more to herself than to him. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets. "Thinking,"

She looked away. "Oh, um, suppose I'll leave you to it then," Molly began to walk away when a strong hand gripped at her elbow and spun her around.

"You're cold, Molly," Sherlock said. Molly could've sworn he looked almost concerned for her.

"Yes, well, I am stuck in the rain, Sherlock," Molly said, prying his hands from her elbow. Sherlock stood still for a moment and then whisked his Belstaff coat from around him. He wrapped it around her, and then turned away, leaving a confused and slightly warmer Molly in his wake.

**A/N I know it ended rather abruptly, but I think it okay, overall. Let me know how I did!**


	2. His Coat

**A/N A few people asked for a second chapter, so I managed to spew one out.**

**Disclaimer: If this was mine, it would be canon. Duh.**

Molly shrugged off Sherlock's black coat and pried the sodden sleeves from her arms before draping it over the back of her burgundy lounge, hoping that it would dry out overnight. Sniffling and wrapping her arms around herself to warm up, she set the kettle and padded down the hall to her bedroom where she could change into something warmer. Sherlock was a strange man, she mused whilst jumping out of her jeans, he rarely acts like he cares one inch about her, strutting around the morgue, _her morgue,_ as if he owned the place. However in the space of a few hours since she had last seen him (he was demanding a spleen from her) he managed to alter his personality, however small the change, Molly _felt _it.

Hearing the kettle whistle, shaking her from her thoughts, Molly emerged from her room, dressed in an oversized jumper and trackpants and arrived in her kitchen, where she extracted a mug and teabag from an overhead cupboard and spooned out two sugars from a beige container to her right. Molly usually tried not to read into things, _especially _things concerning Sherlock; that man was as changeable as the weather, and she knew her mother wouldn't approve of Molly worrying herself with silly things, but something bugged her about their latest interaction.

After setting her mug down on the coffee table, Molly curled up on her soft lounge with her knees close up to her chin and she brought her woollen blanket up to her neck before reaching out to regain her mug. After taking a sip of her tea, Molly felt something small poke at her shoulder. She hoped he would be at the morgue in the morning. Sherlock wasn't even wearing the coat and it was causing problems with her calm. She sighed.

Entering the lab the next day at six, Molly hanged her coat on the rack inside her office and slipped Sherlock's coat on the handle of the door so she would remember to return it. Sherlock arrived barely ten minutes later, bursting through the lab doors with a tired and obviously un-caffeinated John in tow, making Molly- elbow deep in paperwork- jump.

As Sherlock settled at the end of the room with his slides, John announced that he was leaving to get a coffee.

"And Molly, if he bugs you," he added, inclining his head towards Sherlock, "just give me a yell." Molly nodded.

"You _look _like you need a coffee," she observed, "when did he get you up?"

John shrugged "Other than the fact that it was dark out, I don't know. Silly bugger didn't even give me a chance to check my clock." Molly laughed.

"You should probably get that coffee, John'" she said, shooing him away, "you look like death warmed up." John laughed and turned to leave. It was only when he was halfway to the door, however, that he noticed that Sherlock's coat hung on the door of Molly's office and that despite the chilly weather this morning, Sherlock hadn't worn his coat.

At the end of Molly's shift, John had gone home, puzzled as to why Sherlock had even dragged him to Bart's in the first place when he wasn't needed, and Molly was packing up her blood samples. It wasn't until then that she realised that Sherlock hadn't asked for his coat back, nor had he brought up what had happened the day before in his infrequent bursts of conversation. Less surprised than puzzled at his behaviour, Molly broke the silence.

"Sherlock?" she asked hesitantly from beside the desk. He looked up from his microscope slowly, as if the show of a lifetime was being broadcast in there, and she was making him miss it.

"Molly?" He replied.

"I- um- just wanted to return this." She inelegantly stuck out the arm that had Sherlock's Belstaff draped over it.

"Oh," he mumbled- looking for words- but before he got the chance, Molly cut him off.

"And I wanted to thankyou, for- you know- the coat. It helped- a bit." Although she couldn't be sure, Molly thought she saw a hint of triumph, as if his mission was completed.

"Are you sure you still don't need it?" He queried, which caught Molly off guard.

"Oh no, Sherlock, it's yours. Besides, it isn't raining." Molly replied, which Sherlock answered with an inelegant snort.

"I had John check the weather for me. It is rare that I rely the incompetancy of weather-people, therefore I had John go to a friend of mine, a meterologist. So I trust it will be raining by the time you finish up which will be in approximately fifteen minutes time."

Molly groaned at her stupidity. Stupid. _Stupid _of her to leave her umbrella on her coffee table. She should have known, she should have _known!_ Turning away from the satisfied look on his face, Molly unfolded the grey mass of material, and wrapped it around herself, already feeling warmer in the brisk air of the lab.

**AN So this is what I managed. There is another chapter coming, maybe this week or the next, don't hold me to it. Also, if you have read "Would You Rather on the TARDIS" there won't be another chapter, although I told someone there would be. Sorry.**


	3. Her Flat

**A/N Hopefully I didn't screw this chapter up. **

Molly couldn't help the feeling of deja-vu settle in her stomach as she unlocked the door to her flat that afternoon. The swish of Sherlock's coat, which had become strangely familiar to her, skirted her calves as she walked over to her barely used hat and coat-rack, that stood to the right of her door. Molly toed out of her shoes, pulling off Sherlock's Belstaff and hanging it up. She made her way into the kitchen, death glaring the spot where her umbrella lay on the coffee table on the way. Once there, she began filling up her kettle but cut the tap halfway through filling it, thinking that how the day had passed called for something stronger than tea. She pulled out the bottle of red and a glass that sat on a low hanging shelf to her left and set them down on the coffee table, ready to drink after she had changed out of her damp clothes.

Molly had struggled out of her clothes and folded them neatly on her bed. She pulled the door to her room open and made her way into the open living area of her flat until a tall figure perched on her lounge made her stop short and forget the bottle of red sitting on the table, barely 5 meters from her.

"Sherlock?" she murmured, slowly stepping towards him on the lounge. As she came to face him, she spoke again; the words refusing to form anything resembling a coherent sentence. Finally she managed to ask him how he knew where she lived.

"Staff records at Bart's aren't under nearly enough security" Sherlock replied coolly, "they weren't a problem to disable."

"Okay.." Molly let her voice drift off, unsure how to reply to someone admitting they had hacked a hospital computer system that, she was sure, was guarded by a tough firewall. Obviously not. But was was he here for? Surely not for her- but maybe...

As if reading her thoughts, Sherlock stood up. "I came to collect my coat" he announced abruptly.

"Oh," Molly replied, mentally slapping herself. Of course he was here for his coat, he didn't do anything for _her. _He never had. An awkward silence unfolded between them. Molly turned her gaze downward and shuffled her feet. Sherlock made no attempt to retrieve his coat from the hanger.

Sherlock took a step forward, now closer to Molly than he had ever been. And began talking.

"You _know_ I don't understand sentiment, I never have."

Molly took an involuntary step back. Sherlock stepped forward. What was he _talking _about? Molly took a calming breath.

"What are you saying, Sherlock?" She said, surprised by her courage.

"How could _you _awaken that part of me."

Molly was confused, was he angry at her? No, she decided, he was _confused_.

"You've kept this bottled up, Sherlock." Molly replied, gently taking his forearm in her grip. "These things were never meant to be hidden." He looked down at her, not deducing- Molly could tell- just looking. He was taking in the features of her face, the way her hair lay tucked securely behind her ear. The splendid way it framed her kind face and the way her big, brown eyes saw him. Really saw him.

"I never realised how much I needed someone- it isn't something I think about often. These _human _needs- I don't- I never thought that they would be something _I _would ever need."

Molly sighed. "You are human, Sherlock, no matter how much you try not to be. Sure, the human race can be right gits sometimes- which might make you wish you _weren_'t human- but you can be too, and that's what makes _you_ human." Molly stepped closer, the close proximity making her skin tingle.

"It isn't just human proximity I crave, though," Sherlock began, "It's you."

Molly took in a deep breath and counted to 3. What was he _saying? _This wasn't _normal _for the consulting detective. When has he ever needed her- other than when he needed the occasional body part from the morgue, or when access to a body was limited and she had the key? Was he pulling her leg or did he really believe what he was saying, and mean every word? Did he expect her to fall for his tricks again?

"How can you prove it?" Molly asked, "Prove you mean what you say." She was almost frightened to hear his answer.

"Prove it?" he queried softly, incredulous, "I gave you my _coat_." Then, he added, "Twice."

Molly sighed for what the umpteenth time that night. She felt bone tired. Walking over to the lounge, she moved past Sherlock, and plopped down onto the sofa. She motioned for him to join her. "Sit down, Sherlock."

He hesitated, and then took a seat beside her. Molly turned to face him, "You do realise why I didn't believe you, right?" Sherlock nodded, somewhat slowly.

"Am I right in thinking that after years of complimenting you to get my way, you no longer believe me when I express a genuine compliment?"

Molly nodded and the reality of the situation struck home. Sherlock Holmes was sitting on her lounge. He said he _craved _her. She was having a conversation with Sherlock Holmes that she would never have dreamed of having in her whole 3 years knowing him.

She didn't know when she moved closer to him, and barely realised when she had rested her head on his chest. But when she did, she didn't jump back and apologise, she stayed there: her nose breathing him in, eyes shut tight and his arms securing her waist to him. She smiled. Two days ago Sherlock caught her in the rain, two days later he caught her in his arms.

**A/N This chapter was **_**really **_**hard for me to write. I wanted Sherlock a bit OOC but hopefully I didn't go overboard?**

**I didn't want to end it w/ a kiss because I am very underpractised in that area. **

**Thankyou for all of your reviews and if you are a WhoLockian, go check out my Doctor Who/Sherlock fic, 'No Need To Wait.'**

**-whovianallover**


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